Maid of Murder (12 page)

“I’m sure. I’m glad you’re there for her.”

I booted up my computer and logged on to the library’s email account. There were a couple of messages from professors with research requests and the College president’s secretary reminding us to renew the president’s overdue books.

“She doesn’t know anyone here. She’s from Virginia and only here for the wedding.” He paused. “Now, for the funeral.”

“Wow, and here I was only thinking about myself, having heard about my friend’s death from police hours after it happened.” I said as I renewed the president’s books. “But I have plenty of people in this town to comfort me, don’t I?”

Bobby’s brow wrinkled. “Would you stop playing with your mouse and look at me?”

I shut the email account and turned my chair to face him. He looked confused and a little hurt. I felt a twinge of guilt for mistreating him. I knew that I should feel sorry for Bree. Her closest friend had been murdered, and now she was stuck in a strange town miles from home. Despite knowing this, I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for her. I hadn’t liked how she’d fawned over Olivia at the picnic, nor did I like that she had moved Bobby’s sympathy from my family to her and the Blockens. I knew from dealing with Bobby and his past girlfriends that he would repeat anything I said to his current love, so she had effectively stolen my best friend when I needed him most.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked.

Before Bobby could answer, Nasia, Lasha’s thirteen-year-old daughter, sashayed to the desk. She wore a skimpy tank top and shorts covered by her mother’s mammoth red cardigan. Lasha had mentioned that Nasia was in a “rapper’s hoochy mama” stage.

“Good morning, India,” she greeted, adding a sophisticated tone to her still-juvenile voice.

Lasha and her daughter lived just off campus, so Nasia was a frequent visitor to the library during the summer, especially when there wasn’t anything good to watch on television, or so she said.

“Hi, Looker,” she said, using her mother’s pet name for Bobby.

“Good morning, Nasia,” Bobby said reservedly. He looked panicky.

She batted her blue false eyelashes in response.

Lord, I thought.

Nasia batted her eyelashes again. A stray lash poked her in the left eye. She winced and looked away as if she spotted something else of interest. She oh-so-casually rubbed her eye. Bobby shot me a pleading look. I hopped off my chair and walked around the counter, situating myself in between Bobby and Nasia. She rubbed her eye furiously.

“Nasia, I want to show you something in my office,” I said.

She nodded and let me steer her toward the back room. I glanced back at Bobby. He flashed an appreciative grin.

In the staff bathroom, I dampened a paper towel and handed it to Nasia. “You are going to have to take those ridiculous things off.”

Nasia sniffled. “Do you think he saw?”

“Who?” I asked, handing her a second paper towel.

“Bobby. I’m soooo embarrassed.”

“Bobby? Naw,” I lied. “He was too busy reading his horoscope on the computer.”

“Really?” She met my eyes with one-and-a-half of hers.

“You know, Nasia, Bobby’s a little old for you.”

She bristled. “I was just practicing for eighth grade.”

“I went to Stripling Middle School for eighth grade too, and I know, for a fact, that you won’t be allowed to walk through that door dressed like this.”

“Times have changed.” She patted her hair. “And how would you know what it’s like there, anyway? You’re old.”

Ouch.

After I parked Nasia in front of a computer terminal where she immediately logged onto her online profile and would be happily entertained for hours, I lost the rest of the morning helping a tearful August graduate with a paper on
The Fall of the House of Usher
. I gave the senior every book relating to, critical of, and written by Poe in reference to the short story. Her thin arms strained under the weight of the texts, and I helped her carry them to the checkout desk where Erin stood.

“I can’t thank you enough,” the girl gushed. “You really saved me. I wasn’t finding
anything
.”

I smiled, feeling quite smug.

The student added, “If I hadn’t gone to college, I think I would really have liked to be a librarian too,” the student said.

I glanced at Erin, who smirked.

I had returned to the reference desk when Bree walked in.

Bobby met Bree at the door and kissed her on the cheek. A student worker rearranging the volumes on the new bookshelf dropped a heavy stack of textbooks on his left foot. He hurried around the checkout desk to the workroom, presumably to walk it off. It’s little wonder, though. Bree was stunning in a form-fitting tailored tank top and slim-fit chinos. Bobby and Bree spoke for a moment before approaching the desk.

I looked up at the last second.

Bree’s face was drawn, and her eyes bloodshot. She smiled nervously. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you and tell you about Olivia. Bobby told me that you learned about it from the police.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say. I wouldn’t allow myself to look at Bobby. Bobby, my friend, should have told me, not Bree, who I hardly knew.

“It all happened so fast. She was in surgery, and then her family had to decide what to do. I don’t think any of us slept the night after the surgery,” she said in a rush.

I swallowed. “I’m glad that you were there to help them. I’m sure it meant a lot to the family and to Kirk. How are they doing?”

Bree made a pained expression. “As well as can be expected.”

“Has the family made any arrangements?”

Bree shifted her weight. “Not yet. The detective, May, I think it is . . .”

“Mains,” I said.

“Right, Mains, he said the . . . the body should be released tomorrow afternoon, or the next morning. He seems confident the case will be closed soon.”

“He does?” I asked, surprised.

“He has a suspect.”

My shoulder ached. I bit the inside of my lip. “A suspect?”

Bobby placed a hand on Bree’s arm. “We should go I’ve only half an hour for lunch.”

“Right, of course. I’ll let you know when the service is,” Bree told me.

“I’d really appreciate that.”

She turned one last time. “I’m sure it was an accident. He didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Open-mouthed, I watched them leave the library. When they reached the door, I jumped off my chair and hurried after them. Outdoors, the afternoon heat hit me like a heavy curtain.

I caught them in the staff parking lot. “Wait.”

Bobby turned around. “Did I forget something?” He patted his pockets.

“Who? Who did you mean when you said ‘he didn’t mean to hurt her’?” I was breathless.

A group of students playing a scrap game of touch football in the library’s courtyard stopped and watched us.

“I’m sorry for saying that, India. I shouldn’t have—”

“Who?”

She gave me a pitying smile. “Your brother, of course. Olivia talks, talked, all the time about him being obsessed with her. He sent her flowers and candies, begging her to come back.”

“Maybe at first, he . . .” My face flushed.

“Olivia never thought Mark would hurt her. And I know that he didn’t mean to do it. It was a horrible accident. The police believe the attack wasn’t planned.”

“The attack wasn’t planned?” I screeched.

The football players mumbled to themselves and moved closer. Bobby stepped between us, opening the passenger side door of his aged but well-cared-for car. Bree slipped inside.

He shut the door. “India, please go back inside.”

I gasped. “Did you hear what she said? She thinks Mark’s responsible for Olivia’s death.”

“You’re making a scene. How is that going to help Mark?”

I was dumbstruck.

Bobby blew out a breath. “Can we talk about this when I get back?”

When I didn’t answer, he shook his head and walked around the car. I watched them roll away.

“That shows how loyal you are,” I shouted at his brake lights.

The football players gaped.

“What are you looking at?” I demanded.

They snickered and resumed their game, this time as tackle.

When my shift ended, I rushed out of the building at the fourth chime of the bell tower. The afternoon had trickled by. A handful of patrons had stopped in, but none of them had needed guidance from the reference desk. When Bobby returned from his lunch with Bree, I refused to talk to him. I knew it was childish, but I was too hurt by the scene in the parking lot to trust myself to speak.

When I reached my car, I stood back from it and examined the rusted tire wells and dented, multicolored fender. I kicked the rear tire hard. The tire bit back through my thin-soled sandals. I dropped my shoulder bag and danced in place, holding my foot. Thankfully, the early afternoon football game had long since dispersed.

I hobbled toward the driver’s door.

“Ms. Hayes?” A refined voice called.

I spun around. Provost Lepcheck approached me at a fast trot.

Without pausing, I scooped up my bag. Thankfully, it had been zipped tight for once in my life. “Sam,” I replied, using his first name to irk him.

He scowled, making his jowls more pronounced. A chin lift lay in the near future. Lepcheck looked office casual in a pressed polo shirt, polo with a big P, and corresponding charcoal slacks.

“Do you know the current whereabouts of your brother, Mark Hayes?” His manner was grave.

As opposed to my other brother, Mark Hayes, I thought. “I would think he’s in his office.”

I squinted into the glaring sunlight. Maybe it would rain and cool the evening.

“I’m afraid he isn’t. I’ve rung him several times throughout the day and just now stopped by his office. He was not present.”

This was bad. Lepcheck had walked over to my brother’s office to speak to him, instead of sending one of his minions.

“Your brother has placed the college in an awkward position with both the community and the local authorities. The president is not pleased.”

He pronounced “president” as if declaring the name of a powerful warlord.

“Both my brother and I are aware of the situation. I’m sorry I don’t know where Mark is. I’ve been working at the library since eight this morning. If you want to make certain of that, you’re welcome to speak to Lasha.”

Lepcheck stiffened with obvious dislike of Lasha, who through some impressive finagling had secured tenure her third year at Martin. “The situation is urgent. The administration is not amused with the disregard that Mr. Hayes has shown for the college community on this matter. He has not contacted my office, or the office of the president, regardless of the numerous requests to do so by both. Because of this, and other questionable matters, a decision has been made. Mr. Hayes has been suspended from the college without pay, effective immediately, until these unfortunate circumstances are rectified. His two classes will be divided between Dr. Roth and Dr. Ames.”

“You—” I began angrily.

“I will warn you, Ms. Hayes, that we are also concerned with your behavior. Please, remember that Martin College is a respected and historic institution, and its faculty is not exempt from treating it as such.”

The tips of my fingernails cut into the heels of my palms. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t get me immediately fired, suspended, or guillotined, so I clamped my teeth hard onto the inside of my lower lip.

Done with the unpleasantries, Lepcheck brushed his hands across each other twice. “Please, inform Mr. Hayes of our decision.”

I reached my apartment in two minutes and headed directly to the phone. When my father picked up on the other end, I told him about Mark’s suspension.

Dad’s first outburst was, “Outrageous.” followed by a few choice words and declarations about the Bill of Rights.

“Don’t worry,” he advised. “I’ll call Lew. He’ll have a lawsuit on Lepcheck’s desk tomorrow morning.”

Lewis Clive was the attorney my parents kept on retainer in case they ever have the urge to be arrested. My parents’ tangles with the law usually were the result of tethering themselves with steel chains to old growth forests or dilapidated historic buildings.

“Have you seen Mark?” I asked.

“No. Your mother’s a wreck. She figures the Blockens blame Mark for Olivia’s death. I finally persuaded her to go to work today. It wouldn’t do any good for her to pace the floorboards here, not when there are people at the church who need her.”

“Oh.”

He recognized my tone. “I know Mark can be difficult and . . . er, emotional sometimes, but we need to support him the best we can. Your brother is tougher than you think. But the Blocken family . . . oh, to lose a child. I can’t think of anything worse in this life.”

My eyes teared when I allowed myself to remember.

“Will Mom visit the family?” My mother, in her capacity as minister, often calls on Stripling families in times of tragedy.

“She thought it wise if she didn’t under the circumstances. She did call Bill Myer over at the Lutheran church, and he promised to drop in on them. The Blockens are members of that church, if you remember. Bill had planned to officiate at Olivia’s wedding.”

And now he will officiate at her funeral, I thought.

“I’ll talk to Lew,” my father said. “I’ll ring you back when I hear from him.”

After I hung up, I called my brother’s apartment. No answer. I had left a message on his voicemail to call me immediately, using the word “urgent” an excessive number of times. I couldn’t leave a message about Lepcheck’s announcement.

Hanging up the phone for a second time, I hovered beside it, trying to decide if I should call my sister on her cell phone or my mother at work or the Pope at the Vatican about Mark’s suspension. Maybe Ina was right, and I would make a good Catholic. I thought better of any more calls. My mom and sister—though probably not His Holiness—would learn of the situation soon enough. I wasn’t in the mood to discuss it, especially when I had yet to tell Mark.